Before I Break

by Alec John Belle

  That’s one of the things that made me mad about being a teenager; as much as I didn’t want what others thought bother me, it really did. Deep inside, I was slightly embarrassed that everyone here thought I was turning into a queer.

  “Come on, please,” I begged Jake. “We need more people to join us. The more we expand our group, the more people will come, and since you’re one of the most popular guys in school, like me, people might join in a heartbeat.”

  “Correction,” Jake pointed out. “You used to be one of the most popular guys in school. The old group told me to send you a message.”

  “Which is?” Melissa asked.

  “‘Go tell hell,’” Jake said. “That’s all they said. Besides, you had to know this would happen eventually.”

  Actually, I didn’t. I hoped that even after I felt this way, everything would work out with my old friends, but as of now Jake was the only one sticking around, and that was becoming rarer and rarer. Things just weren’t like they used to be, and I could tell he noticed it as well.

  “Great,” I mumbled, picking at my salad. “Just what I need—the whole school hating me because I’ve become pro-gay.”

  “I don’t hate you,” Jake said, but for some reason it didn’t sound too convincing. “I just can’t come, okay?”

  Avery stood up, throwing his backpack over his shoulder. He looked at Melissa and me and said, “I’m going to…go to the library. I’ll, uh, see you guys later.” He left the cafeteria a little quicker than I liked, but he was a free man and could do what he wanted. I had a strong feeling that he didn’t leave because he wanted to go to the library, though, and that worried me a bit. I just had to trust that everything would be okay eventually.

  “How’s creative writing class?” Melissa asked, changing the subject. “Do you like doing it? You haven’t let me see anything you’re working on.”

  That was because there wasn’t really anything I had worked on. Lately I’d been slacking on writing and didn’t really know what to write about anymore. For a long time I had tried scary stories, but I came to realize blood and gore were not my expertise. Poetry was another thing that I tried, but after trying to write a rhyming poem one day when I used the word “luck” at the end of the stanza, there was only one word that came to mind, and right then I knew it wasn’t for me. I did notice, however, that I was really good at realistic fiction, just writing about the hardships of someone else’s life. Maybe it was because I secretly wished mine was different, but I didn’t let anyone else know that.

  So no, I really didn’t have anything that I had worked on because I didn’t write anything. As of right now, my GPA was a 3.0 all because of me not doing my homework assignments.

  “I’ve been lacking creativity lately. You wouldn’t want to read it.” Just then I realized that I should leave to go talk to Avery. I stood up and said, “I’m going to go with Avery in the library for a little bit.”

  “Want me to come?” Melissa asked.

  “No, I think he and I need to talk alone. I’ll see you later.” When I turned to leave, I couldn’t help but be a little angry with Jake. He hurt Avery’s feelings, even I saw that, and was pretty sure Melissa was talking to him now about it now. The one thing Jake and I had in common before all of this was our hatred of gay people, but now it seemed like we didn’t have a single thing to talk about, especially since I was friends with Avery.

  Avery was a good guy, and I wasn’t going to stop being friends with him because of this. As it turned out, he and I had a lot in common. For example, we both loved books, and some of the same ones, too. We also had similar music tastes—rock, metal, and alternative, maybe pop depending on the day—and the last two weeks we found ourselves sitting in the car driving around listening to music, just seeing the world. Neither of us watched TV, which was uncommon these days. The only difference was that while I liked sports, he liked Theatre. Oddly enough, Theatre was beginning to sound a lot more pleasing than sports. In truth, I really liked Avery and hoped to be friends for a long time.

  Maybe even a little more than that…

  No. No, I didn’t like Avery, not like that. I couldn’t like Avery, could I? We were just friends and I was straight. The idea of ever having sex with a guy disgusted me, not that I was prejudice anymore—what happened with Avery was his business not mine.

  Unless I wanted it to be.

  Stepping into the library, the smell of books overwhelmed me, making me smile. I looked all around the library, watching couples make-out, a guy pick his nose and then flipped the page, made a mental note not to check out that book, ever, and thought about maybe asking for a record of every other thing he’s checked out before finding Avery sitting in the corner reading a book.

  “You okay?”

  He looked up at me and smiled. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just wanted to take some time to myself, you know?” He flipped the page and then said, “But you can stay since you, Melissa and Eve seem to be the only ones welcoming me with open arms. Well, and your mother.”

  We laughed as I took the chair next to him. It was in a corner that was surrounded by bookshelves so that no one could see us. It wasn’t that much of a surprise that he enjoyed being in here, not when there was a whole world out there that you’re trying to avoid. It wasn’t until the last few days that I realized the world was this cruel, and for a long time I had been a part of it. What was causing this change in me? While Avery was reading his book, I noticed the scars on his arm again, and my chest tightened up with worry that something may have been wrong. No one had that many scars unless they were doing it themselves.

  It had been a little over two weeks since I had first seen them, and I felt somewhat guilty for not saying anything to anyone about it. There was a possibility that if he was harming himself, Avery could also hurt himself permanently, and I really didn’t want to see that happen. I couldn’t explain these feelings, I just knew they were there and knew I needed to do something about it.

  Grabbing my backpack, I said, “Is it okay if I leave you alone for the rest of lunch? I have some important things to do.”

  There was a flash of emotion in his face—sadness, disappointment, something of the sorts—but he plastered a smile on his face anyway. “Of course. Do you want to come over tonight? Mom’s putting together this big family dinner and she said you’re welcome to come over. If you want to, that is.”

  I really wanted to go—and a little tug in my heart told me to say yes—but I hadn’t seen his mother, Tina, since the first night I went out with him, the night that didn’t go too well, and wasn’t sure how she really felt about me anymore. Maybe she was just putting on a show to lure me into the house to ream my ass about calling her son a faggot in a public place. Or maybe she was just trying to support Avery’s choice of friends, even if she didn’t agree.

  “I’ll think about it,” I replied. “Text me after school and we’ll talk.”

  “Alright. See you later, Cyril.”

  Avery went right back to his book as I quietly slipped out of the library to go do what I needed to do. The guidance office wasn’t too far across the school campus, but I wasn’t sure if I’d make it there before the bell rang for Algebra II Honors. God forbid I miss class, as my teacher once made very clear. But this is more important, I thought. Someone’s life, someone who was becoming very close to me, was on the line and I, being the only one who seemingly noticed, had to do something about it.

  When I got to the office, the receptionist, who was the same one from the other day, smiled at me when I walked in. “I see you’ve returned,” she said. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “I need to report something,” I said softly so no one else could hear. “I think someone is being hurt.”

  “Is it a bullying situation?” she asked.

  Even though I didn’t know for sure of the cause, I said, “No…it’s a self-harm situation. A friend of mine to be exact. I just want to make sure he’s oka
y.”

  The receptionist nodded with an understanding that seemed almost like pity. “I’ll buzz Mrs. Wright’s office to let her know you’ll be going in. Can I ask what your name is?”

  “Cyril Hayes,” I replied.

  I sat in a comfy chair, waiting for Mrs. Wright to come out and speak to me. When she did, she was younger than I imagined she would be. Short and petite, her brunette hair fell to her shoulders and her brown eyes gleamed with happiness when she smiled at me.

  “Come on back to my office,” she said. “We’ll have more privacy back there.”

  Following in her lead, she brought me to an office that seemed to match her personality quite well. There was a pink couch sitting on the wall by the door, facing a brand-new desk facing away from the other wall toward the couch. A small plush chair sat in the corner of the room and boxes of tissues were in just about every corner. As if knowing what I was thinking, Mrs. Wright said, “You’d be surprised how much people cry in here.” On the wall behind her desk, she had pictures of a family—a good-looking husband, I assumed, and three girls, looking to be just about three, four, and maybe six. It wouldn’t be a guidance office without the inspirational quotes all over the walls either, and I couldn’t help but grin at how stereotypical this was. I had a strong feeling she was going to be quite peppy.

  Taking a seat on the abnormally pink couch, she smiled. “Don’t mind the pink. It’s my favorite color, in case you couldn’t tell.” I nodded without saying a word and she continued. “Normally I wouldn’t speak with you because I work with seniors, but I think this situation is very important and I’m the only person available right now.” She sat in her chair and leaned back, saying, “So what’s the problem?”

  “Didn’t you hear?” I asked.

  “I did, but I’d much rather hear it from you in a little more detail. A name would also be useful, if you don’t mind.”

  Despite being nice, she was not peppy like I expected, at least not right now. The situation was not something to be peppy about, though, so I understood. “The new kid, Avery Branson, had scars on his arms. I noticed them a couple weeks ago but have been too back and forth with him when it comes to our friendship. Sometimes I cared, other times I didn’t. But just recently we’ve been getting closer, so I, uh, decided it might be a good idea to tell someone.”

  Mrs. Wright nodded. “You are doing the right thing by telling me this, but I do need to ask—do the scars look old or new?”

  “Old,” I told her. “I haven’t ever gotten more than a glimpse, so I could be wrong.”

  Pulling out a pen and paper, she said, “I have seen him around, I think. Would you mind if I called him into the office with you in here, or would you rather me do this without you and stay confidential? Either way, I need to speak with him.”

  My answer came out quicker than I imagined. “No, I don’t want to be in here. I’d rather you do this on your own. I think he’d hate me if he knew that I said something.”

  Mrs. Wright nodded and asked me a few more questions, none that I knew the answers to. By the time I left, I felt guilty for saying something but suspected that maybe this was for the best. Doing something to save someone’s life is always for the best, isn’t it?

  Slash the blade across my arms

  And watch the blood come falling down.

  Feel the blood run down my arm

  And let myself breathe as I feel like I’ve drowned.

  One more time is all I need

  But blinded by blood I head for the knees.

  Slash the blade across my knees

  I cry out loud, someone help me, I plead.

  When the knees are all done and there’s nowhere to go

  Head for the stomach where more blood will flow.

  Cross my heart and hope to die,

  I hope to see you soon on the Other Side.

  The question of the night seemed to be a big one—did I want to go over to Avery’s house for dinner? It may not seem like a question that required much thinking, but as I stated before, it wasn’t a simple yes or no question. I was more afraid of his mother than anything—and a possible father who may want to kick my ass.

  Avery really wanted me to go, and that much was obvious. It was now five o’clock and I really couldn’t hold off answering for long. Eventually I gave in and told him I’d be there at 6:30. If only I knew what I was in for.

  When I arrived at his house, I sat out on the side of the road, waiting for the right time to go in. Several cars were parked outside so I couldn’t park in the driveway. I texted Avery to let him know that I was there and to come outside, that way I didn’t have to walk in there alone. To his amusement, he got in the car and smiled. “Are you scared? I wouldn’t imagine you being a scared kinda guy.”

  Honestly, I wasn’t scared—not really scared anyway. Mostly I was just a nervous wreck, because to be perfectly clear, I enjoyed my face just the way it was and didn’t need anyone ruining it for something I did weeks ago. Deciding that maybe I was being a bit shallow, I said, “Yeah, I’m a little scared, but not too much. I just think I’d be more comfortable walking in with you, that’s all.”

  I think Avery noticed that that really wasn’t all, but he didn’t say a word about it. Instead, he opened his door, stepping out and waited for me to pull it together enough to go. While we walked to the door, I noticed he had changed into something a little nicer than what he wore today. It was some light blue jeans and a button-up black and orange checkered shirt. He was wearing a pair of Sperry’s that I really wanted, but tried not to pay attention to the shoe envy. Shoes should have been the last thing on my mind.

  When we stepped inside, the crowd of people overwhelmed me to the point of needing to catch my breath. Whether his family was nice or not didn’t matter, but clearly they all liked having sex enough to have all of these people under eighteen roaming the house. Just at first glance I noticed about five girls and seven guys, all about our age. There were two toddlers in the living room, and a baby in a high chair. A little girl, who looked about seven, was screaming as a boy, about nine, chased her through the hallway, nearly toppling Avery and me over. All of these children were Caucasian so I figured they were all related.

  There were not as many adults are kids, but there were a lot. A young couple, who I assumed had the baby and maybe the seven and nine year old, were standing in the kitchen drinking some wine while talking to Tina. A man, looking about thirty-six, was speaking to a group of two women—lesbians?—and I assumed he was Avery’s father I had yet to meet.

  Overall everyone looked nice, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t all put on their mean faces once they noticed me standing there. Ignoring all of the chaos, Avery lead me upstairs, away from all of the craziness and took me into his room.

  His room was almost exactly like I pictured it, but better. On the three opposite walls from his doorway, there were bookshelves that covered the entire wall and went up to about the ceiling. He had a twin-sized bed sitting right by one of the bookcases and on the other wall with no shelves; it had a desk and his laptop, and piles of notebooks were sprawled out over the desk.

  “Don’t mind my messy room,” Avery explained as he plopped down on his bed. “I’ve been writing a lot, and my notebooks are used to write all of my notes and ideas into. Then I transfer them to the computer and write books and stuff.”

  “Really?” I asked, seeming a little more surprised than I should have been. “You write books? That’s…something special.”

  Avery, I noticed, blushed just a little. “Yeah, well, it’s not amazing. I’m not published yet, am I?”

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Are you?”

  “No. I’m not, but that’s why I say yet. I plan on it very soon.”

  Examining his desk, I asked, “What are you trying to publish?”

  “A book. I’ve edited it and everything. It’s a paranormal book, but I can’t really talk about it until it ha
ppens, you know? I want it to be a surprise.”

  “Is there anything I can read?”

  Avery stood up, walking over to his notebooks. “I don’t really know,” he said as he picked one up and flipped through the pages, “I’ll have to look and see. A lot of it is personal.”

  A lot of it probably was, considering the scars on his arms. I wanted to know how things went in the guidance office, but decided I could save that for later. Clearly his personal life was difficult, or he at least had secrets, and they tormented him along the way. The longer I was friends with him and the more I got to know who Avery really was, I was finding myself grateful for reasons unknown.

  In that moment I was putting it all together. His struggle, whatever it was, was real and very real to him especially. He was an honest person—that much I could read on his face, and I knew if I asked he would probably tell me or kindly tell me he didn’t want to talk about it. There was innocence about him that I didn’t have, and part of me wanted it.

  “So what’s for dinner?” I asked, trying to change the subject before I found myself asking questions.

  “Mom’s cooking up everything you can imagine,” Avery said, walking back over to his bed to grab a paperback off the shelf. “Chicken’s in the oven now, and she’s also cooking corn, broccoli, spinach. There’s salad, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, stuffing, and a bunch of other things that she feels are necessary for a family dinner.”

  “Who is everyone down there? Looks like you have a large family.

  “I do,” Avery told me. “The young couple who was talking to my mom—that’s my Uncle Henry and Aunt Lydia. The baby and the two youngest are their kids, Charlotte, Abigail, and Dominic. They also have two sons who were also down there, but they don’t like me very much. That would be Riley and Billy. The women talking to my dad would be Aunt Susan and Aunt Denise—they just recently got married and run a foster family, so the rest of the kids aren’t really related to me, and every few months they have different kids.”